


Double Exposure

by EmeraldSage



Series: The Price of Your Heart [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Organized Crime, Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Fluff, If you've read the other stories, M/M, Mafia AU, On BOTH SIDES, Organized Crime, Revelations, Sneaky America, That you already know, blah, kiss and make up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 21:38:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11322243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldSage/pseuds/EmeraldSage
Summary: Ivan didn't expect to have his connections to Organized Crime revealed when he was ambushed in his own apartment.  Alfred didn't expect to havehisconnection to Organized Crime revealed when he rescued Ivan from said ambush.And neither of them expected the hurricane that would result from this double exposure.





	Double Exposure

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like some of the dialogue is a bit off and disjointed, but I've been sitting on this piece for nearly half a year, and I wanted to get it out there. I hope y'all enjoy it, and that it fills in some blanks.

            It was a soft creak that woke him. The moonlight filtered in through the partially opened blinds and he grimaced as his half-asleep sight took in the light. He blinked awake fully when he heard another soft, barely audible noise – the door hinges beginning to sound but then being muffled – his alertness coming to him in a blink when he realized the sounds couldn’t possibly be his lover. Though Alfred wasn’t in bed with him right now – and he wondered idly why that was – the younger man was like a stampede of hungry rhinos when he was half-asleep. Given that he’d woken briefly when the grad student had tumbled into bed an hour ago, mumbling about papers and dissertations and the evils of the campus coffee machines with their decaf ways, he doubted Alfred was up and about with any kind of coherence. Which only made him more worried.

            Though to be honest, he should be more worried about himself. He wasn’t though, because all his attention was on the empty, still-warm blankets that indicated that his blue-eyed lover hadn’t left their bed for long. Alfred was up and about while there were intruders in their apartment.

            _There were intruders in their apartment_.

            His eyes snapped open from their half-glazed daze as the thought fully registered in his mind, just at the same time the nozzle of a gun nuzzled itself underneath the soft side of his chin and pressed down _hard_. Another set of arms snuck around him, dragging his hands behind his back, tying them tightly as he glared into cold brown eyes of the intruder who’d put a gun to his throat and wouldn’t have any qualms about shooting him.

            _Damn it_. His reaction time had gotten slower since he’d met Alfred. His trigger happy, underworld bred habits had gotten him into a lot of hot water with his lover when they’d first moved in together. While they’d been going out, it had been somewhat difficult, but he’d managed and Alfred was naturally oblivious enough to disregard what he deemed as often unimportant. Until they’d moved into a new apartment together, sharing a sleep schedule, midnight snack habits, and daytime issues, it hadn’t been an issue. But once they’d moved in with each other…he’d been _very_ surprised to see that Alfred was actually a lot more observant than people thought he was. His sister had laughed when he’d broached the matter with her, telling him there was no threat to fear of a civilian! If he found Alfred good enough of a person to move in with him, than he needed to learn to put a cap on his instincts when the blue-eyed blond was around. So he had, and things had evened out. Alfred eventually became less suspicious, and things mellowed.

            That mutual comfort was obviously costing him right now.

            The assassin who had the gun at his neck was smirking at him, eyes still cold, but no longer concerned with any risks. One of the man’s two partners – from what he could see, there were only two, and he hoped that meant there were none left outside where Alfred could run into them – tightened a knot on his binds and he bit back a grimace; he’d need a bit more time to undo _that_ one, especially when the other man was combining different knot styles to make it harder. The other was watching him warily, before he turned to his – Ivan supposed – superior.

            “Should we gag him, sir?”

            The cold-eyed man’s smirk only grew, “No,” he said smugly, “There’s no one here to make it necessary. We’ve disabled all communication frequencies in this vicinity except for our own, so there’s no rescue on its way. Let Braginsky have some of his dignity, eh?”

            “I suppose,” he growled, as the other man worked to secure him, “this is a family issue, then.”

            The assassin spun a flip phone in his hand, even as the other stayed locked in an iron grip with the gun unwavering in its aim. The bastard smirked, “It ain’t that hard to guess _that_ , now is it?” His men sniggered, and the one securing him tightened one of the knots painfully tight. He bit back a groan of pain, and glared at them.

            “What do you want?” he snapped.

            “We’re just doing out jobs,” the younger of the three shrugged, “someone wants easy money and some revenge – it’s not exactly hard to hire us.”

            “Shut it, brat,” the leader snapped back, and the youngest recoiled at the malice in his tone, but obeyed instantly. “It’s nothing personal, Braginsky. But your sister’s loaded, even in regards to the Underground families, and you’re too smart for your own good. It shouldn’t be that surprising that you’ve got people eyeing your sister’s fortune.”

            “The only thing they do is eye it, when I’m around,” he snorted, and his captors smirked.

            “Mhmm, you’ve got a reputation,” the leader agreed, a sallow smirk on his face, “Trigger happy, sadistic, cruel as all hell when it comes to making deals or _dealing_ with others. The perfect heir to the Braginsky legacy. Your sister’s probably ecstatic at the thought of passing on the family to _you_.”

            “She’s too naïve to lead an organized crime faction,” the man who’d been restraining him commented, expression very close to lecherous, “Don’t know how you deal with that. Though it should be easy enough to get the money from her, then.”

            “Have a care how you speak of my sister,” he snarled at them, going from annoyed to fully pissed off. It only made them laugh.

            “Look at this, boys!” the gunman laughed maliciously, “a Braginsky heir – _the_ Braginsky heir – is asking us for some consideration, some kindness.” He hooted at the irony, grinning despite the iron grip and control he had over the gun in his hand. The other two looked torn between amusement and hysteria; teasing a Braginsky was _such_ a bad idea, but in the position they were in, it was unlikely they could be hurt if they took part in such a thing.

            But Ivan wasn’t paying attention to them, and for once, he was grateful that they seemed to enjoy ignoring his piercing glares, because he knew the look on his face would’ve gotten their attention if they’d caught it. He wasn’t looking at the smirking gunman, or the two hesitantly laughing co-partners; no, Ivan was looking to the door, where he’d heard the slightest rustle of soft cloth. The hitmen had been moving around, so they’d probably assumed it was one of their movements that had made the sound, and _oh_ , did Ivan wish it had been.

            Because Alfred was standing in the doorway, pale as a ghost in the shaft of silver moonlight that covered him. Dressed in only an over large t-shirt, that Ivan recognized as one of his own, with a mug of what he presumed was hot chocolate in his hands, he was staring at Ivan, a white knuckled grip clenched around the wooden door frame, still careful to not make a sound. Alfred, his lover, his sunshine, his _life_ , was staring at him in utter disbelief, and he knew that the discussion his captors had been having had been overheard. Alfred knew the truth – some of it, at least – about himself and his family.

            He was so very _lucky_ that the men holding him captive were distracted with their mirth, because he wouldn’t have been able to look away from stunned brilliant blues even if their lives were on the line (which they were).

            He saw Alfred’s hand clench around the hot chocolate he was holding, and he worried for a second about the younger man dropping the ceramic mug in shock and alerting to the men to his presence, before something flared in his eyes. Something almost like determination flashed across Alfred’s features, before his grip tightened, blue met violet and Alfred took a few, stumbling steps backwards into the hallway’s interior.

            Ivan wanted to pretend he didn’t feel like his heart was being crushed, but it really, really did. Yes, he had expected something of a similar reaction to what had happened, can’t pretend that he’d worried about what Alfred’s reaction would be when he finally found out about what he did. He couldn’t even pretend that he wasn’t slightly relieved that Alfred was out of range of the mercenaries in the room, even if it meant that his relationship was suddenly on precarious grounds.

            He shifted his expression to neutral before his captors noticed his distraction. Though really, he needn’t have bothered. They were too immersed in their mirth at his predicament to notice anything else.

            Until the guy to his right choked on his laughter with his own blood, a knife embedded in his back, and he toppled over onto the floor. They certainly noticed _that_. They stared – all of them, even Ivan – at the dead body in the rapidly growing blood pool on his carpet, which he was wailing internally about having to replace once he got out of this. The man in front of him had the gun trained on him steadily, despite his surprise, and he was bound too heavily to escape and take advantage of the opportunity he’d been given. He was also in a similar state of shock as the others. _Who could’ve_ … _?_

            There was a gleam of silver in the moonlight, and the slightest murmur of socked feet rustling through the hallway carpet, before a frying pan reached out and slammed into one of the hostage takers, bearing down on his skull like a forbidding, relentless wave crashing against white-cliff shores. A whirl took the attacker, who he hadn’t seen yet, away from the other man’s reach, just long enough to get behind him and slam the hilt of a knife – the gleam of silver he’d seen earlier – forcefully against his temple. The second man went _down_.

            Finally, the one holding a gun to him moved. Confident that Ivan was as thoroughly bound as he could make him, the leader launched a tackle at the attacker, who’d just come up from the crouch he’d landed in once the other man went down. The attacker hit the floor with a yelp, but he certainly didn’t go down quietly. The mystery attacker, who Ivan _still_ couldn’t see, _damn it_ , levered himself off the ground, shoving the leader backwards so their positions reversed, and the leader dropped his gun with a grunt of surprise. But the leader wrapped an arm around the attacker, pining him in place, and rolled them backwards so that the attacker hit the floor once more.

            A shaft of moonlight slid through the curtained window and caught on the two fighting figures on the floor. Ivan’s breath choked in his throat, and he felt his heart almost give when he saw the glimmer of golden wheat locks and the dark hint of viciousness in moon-darkened sapphire eyes. There was protectiveness and love in those eyes too, though, and that made it all the more clear about who it was that had been trying to rescue him.

            _No! No, you should have stayed in the hallway!_ He had to think that way, because the leader had finally gotten an arm around Alfred – because that’s who his rescuer was, lovable, brilliant, _civilian_ Alfred, who’d just killed a man with one of their kitchen knives from the hallway, knocked another one out, and was currently wrestling with the gun-wielding leader – locking his elbow around the younger man’s throat. The gasp of air Alfred tried to take in felt like a shot to the heart, and he wrestled with the knots around his wrists, trying to get himself free. He swore out a storm as he felt the knots tighten around his wrists, digging into soft flesh, even as he felt some of the higher rope give.

            But Alfred wasn’t done surprising him, and even when he thought he wouldn’t get himself free in time – when he thought he would have to listen to his lover’s last, strangling breaths in their own bedroom – Alfred still had something up on his sleeve. A very sharp something, as it turned out.

            The gunman’s grunts of effort turned into a startled, pained shout, and a gurgling wheeze, and he released the golden-haired man, who shoved the man to the floor, away from him as he gasped for breath. And then, with a swift movement, he drew another knife – _where was he getting all these knives from?!_ – from somewhere under the sweater he was wearing, reversed his grip, and used the hilt to knock the leader out. Whether he’d be alive in half-an hour was questionable, given the location of the bleeding stomach wound, but he’d been dealt with.

            Which was more than he could say for the situation he was now in. The knots _finally_ unraveled themselves under his hands, and he shoved the ropes away from his body as he watched his lover steady himself and straighten. Blue eyes met violet, and for the first time that night, Alfred looked almost…uncertain. He was biting his lip as his long fingers worried the worn hem of Ivan’s sweater, keeping the length at a barely decent thigh coverage. He stared at Ivan, and Ivan stared back.

            “Vanya...” he began, and then hesitated, but Ivan didn’t. His mind told him to be wary, to stay at a distance from the man he’d fallen in love with years ago. His mind saw the skills that couldn’t _possibly_ belong to a real civilian, the demeanor and the mindset that came with long years of training, of indoctrination, and the calculating, ruthless gleam of a killer mind that would remove any threat to those it deemed important. In truth, Ivan was _very_ flattered that he had become one of those important few.

            And therein lay the truth of the matter.

            Ivan stalked forward, keenly aware but ignoring the bodies and pooling blood on his formerly beige bedroom carpet, and wrapped himself around Alfred, ignoring the blood staining his lover, not giving the younger a chance to move or bolt away from him. He could feel the younger man start as his arms came around him, but ignored it as he pressed their foreheads together before he claimed those parted lips.

            The kiss was passionate, brutal, fiercely loving, and everything in between. Ivan had known his lover was keeping secrets – hell, Alfred himself had told him, and he himself was no better – but this was one secret he wasn’t going to let come between them. He’d been so _worried_ that his involvement in the underground would turn Alfred away from him. Would send his lover, with his heart of gold, away from the man that skirted the line of crime whenever he felt so inclined. But Alfred was the same as he was – there was no mistaking that training for anything else – and even as he knew he should be wary, of Alfred’s intentions, of if Alfred _knew_ who he’d been and gotten close on purpose, he couldn’t be. Alfred’s expression in that brief moment when he’d walked in on the kidnapping in progress had been one of pure surprise, followed by stunned shock and ruthless determination. The protective, possessive love had come shortly afterwards. Alfred had _killed_ for him, to _protect_ him, and even if he’d seen a new side of his lover today, that fact didn’t change and he would never ignore that.

            They broke from the kiss, breathing heavy. Ivan stared into bright blue eyes, sparkling with love, light, the slightest hint of ruthlessness he’d glimpsed earlier, but no regret for what he’d done.

            _I’d do it again, for you_ , those blue eyes gleamed in the moonlit darkness, and Ivan smiled.

            _That_ was why he could trust his lover; that was the reason he could curl close to the man with blood on his hands and his sweater and bury his face in the other’s neck to make sure the coppery scent wouldn’t interfere with the natural scent of his lover. Oddly enough, given how much he was used to the scent, he didn’t want it tainting his lover. Which meant that his lover shouldn’t be in a position that he would need to kill.

            He could do it, then. He had no qualms about it; he was born and bred in the underworld; killing to protect himself was something natural to him. Killing to protect his lover, physically or mentally, was something he would gladly shoulder, should the need ever originate. It was obvious that his underworld training and mannerisms weren’t something Alfred wanted to advertise, and he wondered what had driven the young man from life in organized crime to civilian life. There were many things that did, but Alfred was so _young._ He didn’t doubt that the younger man hadn’t been involved in the underground when he’d first met him, which meant that Alfred had been _born_ in the underground.

            “I was going to tell you,” Alfred blurted, drawing him from his musings and he pulled away from where he’d been nuzzling the tanned neck, mouthing kisses where he could see fresh bruises darkening the skin.

            “Tell me what?” the elder asked, lips pressing into the skin exposed to him and relishing in the shiver that the younger gave him in response.

            There was some silence that filled the metaphorical space between them (because, as usual, Ivan wouldn’t have any _actual_ space between them), but Ivan’s grip firmed around the younger man.

            “My…,” the hesitation was back again, but the gentle fingers that he was running up and down Alfred’s spine seemed to help in relaxing him enough to continue the explanation, “my family is in the Underground.” Ivan paused in his ministrations to take in what that meant.

            “I’d guessed that much,” he said dryly, smirk curling against tanned skin, and he could feel the heat of Alfred’s blush, before he rethought the statement and paused again. “Is? They’re all alive?”

            This time the pause was longer, and far more hesitant than he’d ever seen his lover. For a moment, when he looked up to meet the other’s gaze, Alfred looked _scared_. And then he spoke, softly, barely audible, “I ran away,” and everything clicked into place.

            Alfred had barely finished biting out his words when Ivan’s arms curled around him, locking in place tightly, and his eyes shot to his wide-eyed violet counterpart’s, almost flinching when he saw the realization and understanding within them.

            “You’re Alfred _Kirkland_ ,” Ivan breathed, arms tightening around him, and he felt the frown curve at the corner of his lips.

            “How did you –,” because even if Ivan hadn’t known of too many runaways, he wasn’t the _only_ one. There was no _way_ Ivan should’ve been able to guess that so quickly. And the _certainty_ in his voice…

            “You look like him,” was his answer, Ivan’s violet eyes studied him critically, even as his arms loosened into a more familiar, comfortable hold. “Like your brother, I mean,” he clarified, when he saw Alfred eyeing him with a confused, slightly startled gaze. “I’ve met Matthew Kirkland enough times to note the similarities, but I never thought,” he trailed off, intent clear.

            _I never thought you could be **him**._

            The missing Kirkland prince: the crown jewel of Arthur Kirkland’s gilded Empire. The key to the most powerful Underground family in the world was in his arms, and he’d never known.

            And like hell he would ever let go. Unless Alfred asked him to.

            Then, in time with the sudden rumble of thunder in the distance, a thought struck him. Realization dawned on his face, and he blurted, “This is why you’ve been delaying our engagement.”

            Alfred flushed red, then paled down to white, and nodded. “I wanted to tell you before we went through with anything,” he added, “I wanted you to know before you made that kind of commitment to me.”

            Warmth flooded him, and he tightened his embrace around the other man, smiling when Alfred returned it fervently.

            “I was going to tell you soon,” he murmured into the other’s ear, and felt him smile against his neck.

            “I could’ve guessed,” Alfred said, and Ivan could practically picture the way his lips would quirk, trying not to grin, “I’ve already met most of your family, I don’t know how I didn’t see it earlier.”

            He hummed in light agreement, before another thought hit him and he stiffened. Alfred pulled away from him to look up, frowning. “Ivan?” _What now?_

            “We’ll have to ask your father for permission,” he said, after a moment of heavy silence, and Alfred’s eyes widened.

            “No way,” he breathed, pushing out of his partner’s arms. His expression melted from a second of pure panic to stubborn defiance, “Are you _insane?_ I’ve spent _five years_ making sure there’s no possible way for my family to find me. And now you want to _tell them_?! You want to tell _him?!_ ”

            “You know, better than I do, what he would do if he found out _after the fact_ ,” Ivan snapped, “And he _will_ , Alfred. There is no way he _won’t know_. I cannot risk my family – they will all suffer the brunt of his fury if we keep this a secret!”

            Alfred’s expression was mulishly stubborn, but there was a light of resignation in his eyes, and Ivan knew he’d won. Alfred cared dearly for his family, and he hated to see _anyone_ , let alone people he cared for, suffer for protecting him. The silence filled the space between them, and Ivan could feel the weight of the decision Alfred held in his hand.

            And then, Alfred sighed. He moved towards the body of the assassin and started rummaging through his pockets, and Ivan blinked.

            “What are you doing?” he asked, bewildered. Alfred glanced up at him, one eyebrow raised in snarky sarcasm.

            “I’ve got to make a call now, don’t I?” he asked rhetorically, and he realized that Alfred wasn’t kidding in the least when he said, “The cell signal is still down except for the bastard’s phone, so we’ve gotta use that.”

            “Wait, you’re calling him _now?_ ” Alfred rolled his eyes at the frantic question, even as Ivan moved to snatch the old flip phone he’d retrieved from the body.

            “If I don’t do it now, I won’t do it _ever_ ,” he explained, even as he stared down at the phone, eyes blank and his hands shook slightly. Ivan waited a minute, as Alfred just stared at the phone. And then, a minute more. He waited until five minutes had passed, and Alfred was still just watching, before Ivan sighed, and swiped it off of him, earning him an indignant look.

            “Do you even know which number to call?” he asked, pointedly, and almost smiled when his lover turned pink and shook his head.

            “It’s not like I ever needed to know this before…” Alfred grumbled under his breath. He sighed, and punched in the numbers on the old style flip phone. While he didn’t make it a habit of calling Arthur Kirkland at his business office, it was one of the numbers he’d made it a point to memorize. One of the most powerful men in the business wasn’t to be disturbed often, but it was good to have the number for when he needed to be.

            The dial tone resounded dramatically throughout the room, echoing loudly in his ears, until there was the _click_ , and a voice came through.

            “ _This is the business line of a very important, very busy man,_ ” a male voice chimed snootily from the speaker, “ _I have no time to be responding to hooligans playing pranks. Identify yourselves._ ” Ivan’s eyes narrowed, and Alfred smirked at the expression on his face as he drew himself up, even as Ivan could feel the tension returning to his body.

            “How incredibly unprofessional of you to greet your callers in such a way,” he drawled, purposefully drawing out his accent, “My name is Ivan Braginsky,” he smirked when he heard his breath hitch, “I am acquainted with Mr. Kirkland. We share some… mutually beneficial business ventures. Does that satisfy your impudence?”

            “ _My apologies_ ,” the secretary answered rapidly, dismayed he’d insulted someone so important, “ _Is there any way I can be of service today, Mr. Braginsky?_ ”

            “Yes,” he said to the voice over the phone, voice determined, even as he could feel Alfred shaking slightly in his arms, “I need you to connect me to Arthur Kirkland. There is someone who needs to speak to him.”

            There was a brief hesitation, but then the secretary spoke, “ _Yes, right away, sir. I’ll have you transferred to his personal line._ ” There was a moment of silence as the dial tone rang out between them. Then, there was a _click_.

            “ _Braginsky_ ,” a familiar voice drawled, and he could _feel_ his lover stiffen at his side. “ _I must admit, I’m curious. What has you contacting me at work in such a manner?_ ”

            “There’s someone that needs to speak to you,” he said firmly, before he handed the cellphone to Alfred, who took it with slightly unsteady hands and gripped it firmly, ignoring Arthur’s spluttering.

            “ _Oh?_ ” Arthur scoffed, “ _and who would that be_?” There was a heartbeat of silence, then…

            “Dad?” The silence was practically deafening, but even as the tension skyrocketed, as Ivan could _feel_ Arthur Kirkland’s shock and realization color the loud silence (for there were only _two_ people that would address him as such, and one had no connection to the Russian), Alfred’s voice was steady and his eyes were steeled. His hands were trembling, but he was firm, and Ivan felt a small part of him settle, purring in delight that his choice in partner was no coward, was no traitor; though he wouldn’t have blamed Alfred for backing out of the call, he was endlessly pleased the headstrong man he loved had gone through with it. (He had _known_ that he would)

            _“Sir,_ ” they heard someone ask on the other end, “ _is something wrong, sir?_ ”

            “Dad,” his lover said, grip clenching around the phone, a new confidence returning to his eyes, “Dad, it’s Alfred.”


End file.
